


Static and Equilibrium

by Atlanova



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A really long drabble of tender Jopper moments, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone in this family (yes that includes Hopper) deserves freedom and comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hopper is basically a big bear and no one will convince me otherwise, It’s not totally whumpy I promise, Jonathan Byers (Mentions), Late at Night, Minor Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Joyce Byers/Jim “Chief” Hopper, Protective Jim "Chief" Hopper, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Reflection, Sad Joyce Byers, Sharing a Bed, So that’s what I gave them, Will Byers (Mentions), falling asleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanova/pseuds/Atlanova
Summary: Hopper will always remember the stale smell of damp and the crackling silence of his trailer. Joyce's home, on the other hand, is like an anchor. It's always bustling and jovial. It smells like syrup and pancakes in the morning.It's home._________Hopper becomes part of the Byers' family. He stays in their house and he falls asleep wherever he pleases. Joyce needs the comfort and the familiar company.Turns out, they all do. Including Hopper.
Relationships: Jonathan Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Will Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Static and Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> Heya everyone
> 
> Basically, a recent rewatch made this thing happen. The idea kept turning over and over in my head until I finally translated the vagueness of it into some meaningful words
> 
> I love these two. They deserve more
> 
> First work in this fandom, so be kind please ;)

It started after the winter of '84. 

The whirlwind of what happened to Will Byers did not surpass. It did not fall from the sky in fragmented memories like the snow, and it did not lay on the ground in a blanketed nothing. December came and went, and the trees with spindly branches swayed gently in the cold breeze of January.

Half the town were bewildered by it; the prospect of a classified experimental's lab most used test subject escaping in Hawkins. Some say that if they venture to the town's edge where the lab is situated, they can still see ghostly remnants of a strange dust floating in the bleakness. They claim to smell the nasty scent of burning and decay. And they keep going back. 

Hawkins, the sleepy town happy to bask in the glow of the sun. Nothing happens in Hawkins. Ever. 

The others - the more oblivious half of town - seem to raise eyebrows whenever the events are so much as whispered in a school corridor or muttered behind newspapers in the coffee shops. 

Hawkins will always be divided like that.

And for the people who were involved in the vanishing of Will Byers - the ones who fought the unthinkable behemoths and lent a hand in creating El's isolation tank - it's not easy. The seconds, minutes, hours and days spent trying to chase the dark shadows away sometimes replay in their heads like a broken video tape. 

But The Party don't let it get to them. Not really. Not even Will. They'd much rather spend their time playing D&D in Mike's basement and running around the forest pretending to be wizards. Sometimes Steve Harrington will join in as dungeon master. They look to their future, and that is a thing that they cannot be faulted for. 

Joyce sighs tightly and turns around. Whilst she often wishes that sort of freedom can be lent to the adults involved, she'd rather it go to the kids. 

Her arm is stiff as she stretches it out on the crisp bed sheets. The light of the early hours breaks pale shards of light into the melancholy of the room.

"You 'right?" 

The familiar grumble of his voice has Joyce's tired mouth twitching into a comforted smile. It still trembles, but at least there is a solace. 

"I'm alright, Hop," she mutters, eyes falling closed once more. 

________________

The concern can never really bring itself to relent from the darks of Hopper's eyes. Not when he looks at Joyce, anyway. He has always known her to be a thin, short, frail woman. And she is strong with it, but Hopper worries for even that, these days. He is aware of the whispers that have always floated through the town in unrelenting circles.

_"She's gotta be insane,"_ is the one he had heard the most since returning from New York. Least to say that it always forces him to curl his fist, jaw tense beneath the short stubble. And then it had morphed into: _"Talking through the lights? Will's a nice kid, but his mother's gone batshit crazy."_

Hopper had never thought such a thing and he is adamant that he never will. Joyce is everything to him, and is most certainly not out of her mind. She is tough as nails, as loyal and as caring as the day comes, as loving as the union of the constellations at night. 

And she had been right. Right about everything.

He knows that she has had a long-suffering struggle with anxiety ever since that asshole Lonnie weaved his way into her life. Hopper recalls watching them become closer, back in the '60s. He remembers it making him feel queasy for too many reasons he could bring himself to mull over. Shortly after Will's birth, Joyce had kicked Lonnie out. She had two young sons to raise, did so successfully, and Hopper had never been more proud. 

From the sidelines, Hopper watched her become the mother he always knew she was more than capable of becoming. Where Joyce has love and devotion, Hopper knows, is where she will protect with her life. 

But none of that makes the aftermath of '84 that bit easier.

And he is not on the sidelines anymore, much to everyone's repose. Hopper has slowly become an integral part of the Byers' family. In some ways he thinks he's sort of like that old family friend who shows his face whenever it's needed.

In other ways, Hopper is probably more inclined to thinking that he's closer than that. Something more akin to a protector and a supporter, but one with a strong rapport for the family. A closer one. 

He recalls, with a tender ignition of comfort, standing outside Hawkins Middle School last Christmas, the smell of nicotine surrounding himself and Joyce. He remembers holding her slightly trembling body to him.

Even now, as Hopper moves his hand down by his side, guides it along the sheets, he moves the back of his hand to Joyce's fingers and finds that they shake. He swallows gruffly and takes her hand in his without a second's thought.

It has been like this for a while. Hopper will walk through the door, unannounced. He will greet the Byers' household and will regard their more than welcoming smiles as they all sit in front of the television. 

El and Will sometimes run off to read and discuss books.

Sometimes Jonathan will stay, and sometimes he will politely peel off back to his room. 

Often, Hopper and Joyce will fall asleep then and there on the couch. Sometimes Joyce takes herself off to bed and leaves Hopper to doze off on the couch, but never before draping a blanket over him, despite his gruff insistence that he doesn't get cold. Other times, Hopper will wander the dark hallway of the Byers' house. His feet will take him to Joyce's room and he will lay down beside her as she sleeps soundly. 

There's always a considerate distance between them on the bed. Hopper will not move closer to her unless Joyce does so first, most likely by rolling into his side in the peace and deserved freedom of slumber. Sometimes he will nudge her or take her hand, but only when she trembles or seems to be in the depths of a nightmare on the surface.

Bob is gone. Hopper hates that - he really does. He'd liked the guy, but most importantly he'd been grateful for the warmth and love Bob gave Joyce, even if Hopper couldn't. By no means will he seek to replace Bob. He's just being Hop. Protecting. Comforting. Loving in a friendly way. Sure, it's a little intimate, but not like that. 

They both know that there are boundaries when it comes to that line. They're fine with it. They silently understand one another's conflictions. Hopper had suffered the trauma of losing his daughter and instead of drifting towards his wife in the aftermath, the grief had hauledhim towards the pills and the bitter fucking taste of alcohol. Joyce married an abusive asshole who didn't care, then she had loved another who was taken away from her in the most barbaric of ways.

The affections they'd always held for one another - somewhere in the maze of their briskly feverish and traumatic lives - has always settled beneath. It's there. It always is. Of course it is. 

But very rarely does it manage to break through the peculiar veneer of uninterrupted thoughts.

And they are okay with that. They are content with how they are now. 

It's just safer this way.

The house is more of a safe harbour when Hopper is in it. Everyone knows it. The man seems to carry an air of gentle security, especially the type that is disguised in big bear hugs. The house is busier with Hopper in it. All three of the Byers have always been lone wolves, but that doesn't mean to say that they cannot crave safety and warmth.

Especially after the events of '83 and '84.

And Hopper doesn't blame them. 

Hell, he wouldn't; after growing used to the bitter stupor of falling asleep in the haze of pills and the torpor of drowning in alcohol, awakening in an asitr household really is a saviour. His cabin is fine - it's good. Really good. But Hopper will always remember the stale smell of damp and the crackling silence of his trailer. Joyce's home, on the other hand, is like an anchor. It's always bustling and jovial. It smells like syrup and pancakes in the morning. 

It's home.

He likes the security he gives Joyce. He is thankful for the way she seems to still as soon as she feels his touch on her - whether that be leaning against him in front of the television or the way his hand gravitates to her back whenever she walks past him. It's just a reflex, perhaps even a sense of needing to care for her here and there, after the landslides of their respective and bonded lives.

Hopper's eyes glaze over in adoration as he looks at her sleeping frame. It's calm and safe. It's Joyce. His lips flicker a warm smile.

"Hop. Stop watching me and go to sleep, or I'll kick you outside with the dog," Joyce suddenly mutters, half asleep.

Hopper laughs softly and shakes his head. The voice within the laugh is gruff and somewhat muffled in tiredness, but it's one that Joyce is accustomed to by now.

____________________

"Joyce?"

The woman in question tilts her head to the side. She regards Hopper lying on his back, cigarette held between his lips. The dark blues of his flannel are sombre in the static of the darkness.

"Yeah, Hop?"

She sounds tired. 

"Do you ever think-" he exhales. The very syllables are rebuffing on his tongue, "-I don't know, that things could've been different?"

He doesn't know what he's talking about. He truly doesn't; the words are so vague that they could be naming a number of different things. The thing is, that in their hectic lives, they do. He knows what he _wants_ to mean, but he can't put his finger on it. 

It's like it's buried in the dust of the sky, unable to be reached and will stay there forevermore.

"I don't know, Hop," she concurs, exhausted. "Maybe." 

"Yeah," he lets out a scoff, then, absently removing the cigarette between two fingers. "But it is what it is." 

_It is what it is._

He thinks that, really, it isn't so bad.

All the flaws, the laughs, the tears, the melancholy. The trauma and the rains of the new month. The confusion and the what-ifs. The solace of bonding and conclusion. The fond benignity of mortal soft eyes meeting across the room and lingering there until the sun goes down.

It's their home between homes, and they couldn't be more thankful for it.


End file.
